


glitter on skin

by Sour_Idealist



Series: Glitter and Shine [2]
Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Aftercare, Blowjobs, D/s, Facials, M/M, Makeup, Marking, Obedience, Sub Galo, dom Lio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22019548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: When they first talked about this, awkward and stumbling and theoretical both, Galo talked about it mostly as pain and adrenaline, as the same excited rush he chases in the rest of his life. Lio knows, though, because he's not anignorant jackass, that there's also a part of Galo's wide-open heart that is longing and soft, that only wants to know what to do and to do it and to be told that he's good.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Series: Glitter and Shine [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584907
Comments: 14
Kudos: 242





	glitter on skin

Galo and Lio leave the firehouse at dusk, still decked out in paint and glitter.

It's Galo's night to drive home, and Lio slides onto the bike behind him, wraps his arms around Galo's waist and takes a moment to trail his fingers along the length of Galo's thigh. He's pressed full against Galo's back, which makes it easy to feel the hitch in his breath, the faint stutter of it.

“Go on,” Lio says, before Galo can say anything else. “Drive.”

“Hold on right, then!” Galo protests, and Lio laughs and holds on properly, safe and tight.

He's intrigued, still: by the color on Galo's skin, hell, by the brightness on his own, but also by Galo's serene compliance under Aina's hands. He gets rough with Galo a lot, muscles him up against the wall or pins his wrists tight to the bed, pulls his hair and scratches long mean lines up his back and his chest and the insides of his thighs. Bites with intent both to hurt and to mark. Pours threats and promises intermingled into Galo's ears, with power willingly given-over singing under his own skin. Always backed the orders up with playful force, with pulled hair and agreed-upon pain. It's fun; it's a game between them, not against each other but together.

Galo's safeword is _siren,_ and so far he's used it only once, when all the orders that Lio wanted to give spilled out of his mouth at once and tangled, and Galo couldn't tell what Lio wanted him to do.

It never occurred to Lio, until now, to try and bring Galo to his heel with nothing but the force of Lio's voice and the tips of his fingers.

Lio lets the humming of the engine roll through him and turns the notion over all the way home.

He waits until they're just inside the door, until Galo is hanging his riding jacket up on the usual hook, before he slides his hand into Galo's back pocket and says, “Galo.” Galo turns, and Lio leans up and catches Galo's lips with his own, licking slow and filthy into his mouth. Galo kisses him back, sucking hungry on his lip.

“Galo,” Lio murmurs again, drawing back. “I want you to do exactly what I tell you to do. Unless you need to tell me to stop.”

“Sure,” Galo breathes. “I can do that.”

“Good.” The entranceway light is bright; Lio takes Galo's face in his hands and turns his head back and forth so he can drink the glitter in. He's not easily going to get over the luminousness this adds to Galo's eyes, the shine of it – and, fortunately, he doesn't need to. “Back.” He flattens his hand against Galo's chest, barely enough pressure to open an unlatched door, and back Galo goes, two steps until his shoulders hit the wall. Lio taps his wrists; Galo blinks at him, and Lio gently guides Galo's hands flat to the plaster. “Leave those there. Be good.”

“Yessir,” Galo breathes. When they first talked about this, awkward and stumbling and theoretical both, Galo talked about it mostly as pain and adrenaline, as the same excited rush he chases in the rest of his life. Lio knows, though, because he's not an _ignorant jackass,_ that there's also a part of Galo's wide-open heart that is longing and soft, that only wants to know what to do and to do it and to be told that he's good. It just never occurred to him to separate out the two.

Lio sets two fingers to the crimson glory that is Galo's mouth and Galo sucks in eagerly, teasing his tongue along the tips. “I've wanted to do this since she first put lipstick on you,” Lio says, low in Galo's ear, and feels the chuckle in Galo's mouth. Okay, so maybe he wasn't all that subtle; he doesn't care.

He lowers his lips to Galo's throat, the standout tendon that makes a beautiful line when Galo strains, and presses his mouth there in slow appreciation. He doesn't bite, this time, just flicks his tongue against the skin and lifts his head, and when he does, he's left lipstick printed pink on Galo's neck like a signature, like a brand.

He presses his left hand against the mark, his right still busy with Galo's mouth, and Galo hums around his fingers.

“You have something on your neck,” Lio says, and lowers his head to the juncture where Galo's throat meets shoulder. Galo's skin is salty under his tongue, and the smudge of pink he leaves is lurid and gorgeous.

Lio leaves a trail of pink down Galo's chest: on his collarbone, the smudge of errant glitter on his pectoral, clear-framing one nipple and smudged across the other, which makes Galo whimper and whine. Lio retrieves his much-caressed fingers from Galo's mouth, wipes them dry on Galo's shoulder with calculated disdain, and decides in a split-second to do something he doesn't usually do, which is drop to one knee at Galo's feet. (Galo's cock in his mouth he loves unreservedly. It's the kneeling that saps the joy from the game, that takes something from the sense of power that lies light and cathartic on his shoulders.)

Galo's hands are flat against the wall still, his head thrown back, nothing but Lio's bare command to keep him there, and that keeps the exhilarating authoritative rush alive in Lio's blood, even on his knees. He presses one hand to Galo's stomach, not force but silent order, and stamps his mouth on Galo's ribs, on his stomach, over the sensitive skin of his hips. Galo's ridiculous, _excessive_ cock is straining at even his loose pants already, unmistakeable; Lio looks up, grins as wickedly as he knows how, and bends his head to print a pink vivid kiss on the fabric, right over where the head would be. The muscles twitch under his palm as Galo chokes on air.

 _God,_ Lio's hard, and he doesn't go around in pants the size of a circus tent. He drags himself back to his feet; Galo twitches towards him, stays where he's been told. He's biting his lip, teeth digging into that luscious red – it hasn't smudged, even with him fellating Lio's fingers all that earlier time. Fuck it. Lio's not waiting for this any longer, not one second. He takes three sharp strides back, braces himself against the opposite wall, and points to the floor between his feet. “Here. On your knees.”

What he means is for Galo to come to him, and then to kneel. What Galo does instead is drop to his knees exactly where he stands, not a second's hesitation, and crawl across the floor to Lio's feet. It slams all the air out of Lio's lungs and slams all the blood in his body straight to his cock, because: _fuck_. It's more than he would have thought to ask for, and Galo does it like it's nothing, like it's the only thing in the world that makes sense to do. Fuck.

Galo presses his face into Lio's hip and waits for his command. Lio's mouth is stamped all over his shoulders.

“Good,” Lio says, when he can breathe again. “Good.” He tilts Galo's face up where he can see, runs his thumb along the line of Galo's jaw. “Beautiful. Put your hands behind your back.” Galo does, one hand holding tight to the opposite wrist: holding himself down. His eyelids flutter shut, and Lio decides: “I'm going to come on your face, Galo.” Just the thought of it sends heat shooting up his spine; he wants to add some white to all that beautiful color, mess him up, mark Galo as his own. “Do you like that idea?”

“Mmm.” Galo leans into Lio's hand; his mouth works for a moment, mute. Finally he simply nods. “Mm.”

“Good boy.” Lio smooths Galo's hair back from his face, smiling, and goes for the buckles of his own belt. He's as hard as he's ever been in his life, and even getting free of the confines of his pants is a relief like fresh air. Galo stares, rapt, licks his lips – and doesn't move.

Lio almost pulls his hair, smacks him, demands to know what he's doing – all their usual game. Then Galo's gaze flicks up to him, pleading. Galo sways a millimeter forward, sways back again, and Lio realizes. He said _do exactly what I tell you,_ and Galo is being devotedly exact. Not a motion without Lio's word to be both permission and command. He's Lio's right now, body and soul, and he's a greater treasure than Lio could begin to imagine. Greater and more cherished.

“Galo,” Lio says, pulling the folds of skin back from the head of his cock. He eases Galo's lips apart with his one thumb. “Galo, go on.”

“Thank you,” Galo whispers – Lio's almost surprised to hear him speak – and lets his jaw go slack. Finally, _finally,_ Lio feeds his cock between the bright-painted brilliance of Galo's lips.

It's so good – it's always good, but it's _so_ good. Galo sucks at him like Lio is his hope of heaven, like it's all he could begin to want to do with himself; his eyes are closed, the darkened length of his lashes brushing against his cheek. Lio refuses to close his eyes; he doesn't want to miss a second of Galo's lipsticked mouth wrapped around the shaft of Lio's cock. Even now it isn't smudging, and Lio was looking forward to ruining it, but this is incredible too, the chance to use that perfectly shaped red at his own service.

He doesn't give a damn about taking his time. He fucks gently into Galo's mouth – Galo is working hard enough that he doesn't need to do more – and runs his fingers through Galo's hair and loses himself in heat, in fire, until the white-hot feeling sparks up his spine and he can feel his balls go tight. The air seems thin, inadequate; his chest is heaving. “Off,” he rasps out, guiding Galo gently back; Galo goes with a soft whimper and a farewell sweep of his tongue. “Close your eyes and do that again –” Lio squeezes his cock as Galo licks at the head and that's it, he's done, the world whites out.

His vision clears after a moment, or maybe he just closed his eyes and has now remembered how to open them. Galo is leaning into the pressure of his hand, and there's come streaked across the red of his mouth, dripping down his chin. There's even a few drops high on his cheek, just under all the gold.

“Good,” Lio pants. “Good. Perfect. Galo.” Galo hums, not so much a sound as a buzzing in Lio's hand. “Lean back. Lean on your hands.” Galo obeys; his breath is coming faster too, sweat beading on his chest. His pants do _nothing_ to hide how hard he is, and the fabric isn't thin. He looks good on his knees, he always has – one of the ironies of the world, that someone so defiant is so perfectly made to kneel. One of its miracles, that Lio is the one who gets to make him.

“Beautiful,” Lio says, and, because he can, he lifts his booted foot and rests it gently on the massive bulge of Galo's cock. Galo sighs, eyelashes fluttering again, and tips his head up like a flower to the sun.

“So beautiful,” Lio repeats, grinding his toe lightly down. The sound Galo makes this time is less a sigh and more a moan. Lio's going to get more of that out of him. “Flat on your back, now. I'm going to touch you.”

Galo obeys, and Lio settles in front of him, getting some relief for his own shaking knees in the process. He eases Galo's legs open with a faint touch, two fingers to the inside of the knee. The fly of Galo's pants is no more than a moment's work. Lio wonders if there's any pink left on his own mouth, and sucks a kiss on the high inside of Galo's thigh. There is. Good.

“Don't buck,” Lio says, one hand on Galo's hip to settle him down, and sucks Galo's cock into his mouth.

Sucking cock after he's come himself is completely different from doing it beforehand, though he likes both; right now, endorphin-high, he can feel every ridge and vein of Galo's cock and trace each one with his tongue. Galo was leaking before Lio even touched him, and the salty musk of it tastes like satisfaction, like triumph. Lio sucks at the length of him, circles the head, using his hand on what he can't fit into his mouth. He should be used, by now, to the fact that Galo is huge, but he's certainly not bored of it yet.

Galo whimpers, high and strained. Lio hears a crack, the sound of Galo's hand smacking against the floor; the next whimper is almost a whine, and Lio realizes what the problem is.

“Galo,” he says, pulling off with a pop; Galo tosses his head against the floor, whimpering again. Lio crawls up his body, still working his cock with one hand. “Galo.” He presses his forehead against Galo's, dots a kiss to his lips. “Go ahead and come. You're allowed. Go ahead.”

“Hauuuu...” There's nothing close to a word in it, but Galo relaxes under him, shivering with each stroke of Lio's hand. “Ah, ah...”

“Go on,” Lio whispers, “go on,” and in another few strokes Galo is spilling over his fingers, silky and hot. “There. There we go. There.”

The next time Lio slides his hand down Galo's cock, Galo shudders all-over and helpless. Lio lets him go, kissing his mouth again, and rolls himself just enough to the side that he can settle into the crook of Galo's arm. “Good,” he says again, soft, just in case Galo needs to hear it, and settles his head against Galo's shoulder. “C'mere.” And then, hesitantly, because the end of this isn't quite as clear as untying Galo's wrists from the headboard or loosening his grip on Galo's hair, “Move however you need.”

“Mmm.” Galo pulls Lio closer, clings to him; Lio relaxes into it, petting aimlessly at Galo's hair and the skin of his chest. He runs his fingers through the accumulated mess on Galo's stomach, partly proprietary, partly just because he likes the way the texture feels against his fingers. The rush is leaving him, leaving only a sleepy haze. It reminds him of being high, years ago, when his mother was alive and he could still bear the risk of clouding his mind on purpose. The same sense of being slowed down, the way all sensation is either fascinating or hilarious.

Galo's breathing evens out, and eventually Lio realizes a few things: that come and sweat is drying on them both, that he's still almost completely dressed, that he's going to need to wash most of what he's wearing, and that the floor of their hallway is not a particularly pleasant surface to lie on now that he's used to the luxury of a reliable mattress. “C'mon.” He tugs gently at Galo's arm. “Get up. Let's get cleaned off.”

“Mmm.” Galo moves a little like he's drunk, but he does let Lio coax him to his feet, steer him gently into the bathroom. Lio collects the scattered scraps of his mind enough to ditch most of his leather outside the door, safe from steam; everything else can go in the vague direction of the hamper. The important thing now is hot water, and touch to ease them both through the comedown.

There's a brief stream of glitter down Galo's face, followed by black streaks around his eyes. Galo, apparently by habit, dashes water over his eyes to clear out the worst of it, and Lio grabs a washcloth and gently works Galo's chest over. He rests his head on Galo's shoulder, letting the water run over them both.

“How're you doing?” he asks, gently.

“Good.” Galo nuzzles his hair, still clingy. Which Galo always is, but especially after. “That was fun. Different, but fun. A little scary?”

“Oh?” Lio frowns, looking up at him. “Really?”

“I mean, kind of? Normally if I make you mad it's fun.” Galo leaves the thought there, but Lio can follow it to the end, in the difference between Galo desperately waiting for permission to come and Galo pulling full-strength against the cuffs he knows won't break.

“You don't do anything by half,” Lio says, soft under the spray. “You try as hard as you can. I know that.” Because he does; because he's known it since almost the beginning. He squeezes Galo's hand and lets it go. “You were perfect.”

“Yup,” Galo says, grinning. “Because I'm Galo Thymos and I'm the best sub in the world.”

Lio redirects the stream of water into his face with practiced ease.

“Hey! Excuse me! I'm the fireman in this relationship!”

“You are the _idiot_ in this relationship,” Lio says, but, not wanting to concuss himself in the shower today, he lets Galo push the showerhead back down. Both of them are laughing; Lio's trying to pretend he's not, but he's not doing a very good job of it.

“Yeah, but I'm your idiot,” Galo says, grinning.

“Indeed.” Lio leans against Galo's arm. “Do you want to do this again? This way, I mean?”

“Definitely,” Galo says. “Definitely definitely. Not all the time? But yes.”

“Okay.” Lio shakes himself. “We should get out, I think. Unless you're going to wash your hair.”

“Nah, I washed it yesterday.” Galo gets up before Lio, most mornings, which is a blow to Lio's pride but one that he's just going to have to weather. Galo switches the water off and reaches past the curtain, stretching to snag two towels off the rack. He drapes one over Lio's head.

“I resent that,” Lio says, moving it out of his face, and clambers out of the shower. He pauses, glancing at the steamed-up mirror, and swipes the towel across it. Most of the color is gone from his face, though there's faint hints of glitter left around his eyes. “Do you think Aina would teach me to do that?”

“The makeup?” Galo appears over his shoulder, toweling off his hair. His usual spikes flop down the side of his head like a fringe; it's appallingly endearing. “Probably! For you or for me?”

“For both of us,” Lio admits. “I liked it. I mean, obviously on you, but – I liked how I looked.”

“You looked _super_ cool,” Galo says. “I want you to smack me around while you look like that, it'll be great.”

“That sounds like something I can do,” Lio says, smiling as much to himself as Galo. Galo hadn't done much of this kind of thing before the two of them – less even than Lio, who is himself still feeling out the shape of his own wants, now that he has time – but there's no self-consciousness in him at all. Which is not a surprise.

“Great,” Galo says. “Hey, I'm hungry. Want me to make a stir-fry?”

“How much spice is going in it this time?”

“I'll do the honey garlic thing, we have stuff.” Galo is a much better cook than Lio expected, at least by Lio's standards of luxury – protein, vegetables, bread or rice, mostly not canned, all hot and savory and tender.

“Sounds like a plan. Pants first.” Lio loops the towel around his waist and shuffles out of the bathroom, letting clouds of steam loose in the house.

“ _Obviously_ pants first, that's just safety,” says Galo, who only bothers with his bike helmet about half the time and goes dashing headfirst into fires with half of his mech leaking steam. Lio considers pointing this out, and decides that he wants stir-fry more.

“I'll peel the vegetables,” he says instead. There is, in fact, come on his pants, so he swipes a pair of Galo's pajamas off the clean, unfolded pile on the bedroom chair. There are koalas printed on them, because the world is a stranger place than he ever imagined.

Even a year ago, he wouldn't have even begun to dream of his life now, the shape it's taken. Not even one part of the day he's having now.

“Hey,” Lio says, padding into the kitchen. “I love you, Galo.” It still makes his ears burn, just a little, but he's pretty good at ignoring that.

“Love you too, babe,” Galo says, leaning sideways to kiss Lio's hair. “Crush the garlic?”


End file.
